Into the Unknown
by YourLovelyMajesty
Summary: /Did other Guardians struggle to look into Light?/ [Set during The Chamber of Night mission.] Roach-78 is fresh from the dead and wants answers. Who is the Traveler? Why does it command him to spread death? Unhappy with the new life he's been dealt, Roach plans to discover the Vanguard's true intentions and the face of the real enemy.


_Written last year, I decided to try my hand at a Destiny character when I was still absorbed. I enjoy the theory that the Traveler is somewhat evil and using a legion of the undead to increase it's power. So here's a snippet of my Exo Hunter, who isn't exactly pleased to find himself blindly following commands._

* * *

He struggled with the idea of life. Without trying, he knew his name—Roach—and he knew his memory had been wiped seventy-eight times. The reasons why still alluded him; they worried him, really. What had he done in his past life? Who didn't want him remembering?

Sitting inside the cramped cockpit of his ship, Roach watched the Traveler in the violet light of the rising sun. Clouds swirled around the mysterious orb, caught by gravity or the immense feeling of power it emitted. The Traveler was beautiful, but what really was it? And more importantly, what did it want with him?

The Ghost who trapped him in this life materialized by his head. The light within shuddered, it's back pegs spinning. "Guardian, you haven't set the destination yet. We need to get back to the moon."

Roach stared at the strange contraption for probably the hundredth time. It wasn't aggressive; as far as he knew, it had no weapon capabilities at all. It's main function seemed to be floating around and gathering information. But why? Where did the information go?

"Guardian? Are you experiencing mental trauma?"

Roach shook his head and punched in the coordinates for the moon. He had a civilization to destroy. Again the question plagued him _—why?_ Why did he kill? Why did he feel compelled to do everything asked of him? Because a fanatic of a dormant god told him to do it?

As the ship jumped to hyperspace, the Ghost disappeared into thin air. Roach still wasn't comfortable with it living inside his armor; the worst part was it's ability to override the comms, the way it's tinny voice bounced excitedly inside his helmet. He preferred the physical form where he could keep an eye on it.

"Hey Ghost," Roach said to empty air, "has a Guardian ever asked why they were brought back?"

Puzzled quiet was his answer. For a few moments, the only sound was the ship and his own gears spinning as they pumped coolant throughout his body.

The Ghost appeared on his helmet's heads-up, the icon always spinning. "I'm sure many have, but as for a real answer? I don't know if one can be given. In my experience, I only knew I was searching for something and you were it."

"How did you bring me to life? Are you some sort of god?"

"It's hard to explain. Although I can do wonders with technology, most of my power comes from my creator. I'm merely a vessel for the Traveler's Light."

"So am I really alive or just a shell?"

"You are certainly alive. With the Traveler's Light."

Roach didn't understand; it meant nothing to him. Was the Traveler his new creator? Was he reborn to continue his only purpose as another puppet? To him, it seemed like he had stumbled across a religious cult. The Vanguard—even the Speaker—latched onto the idea that with enough death, their god would awaken. So for days, Roach had dealt death to Fallen because the Ghost told him it was the right thing to do.

Maybe he didn't have to worry about erased memories if they were like the present. Even if they were alien and guttural, Fallen screams were similar to a human's. Organics were funny in that way.

Roach shook his head and focused on the strange present. The Speaker had once again tasked him with finding Fallen enemies on the moon. More death, more destruction—there was always more. He didn't feel like he was spreading Light as the Speaker claimed.

A thought occurred to him and he flicked his gaze to the icon inside his helmet. "If you and your friends have the ability to raise the dead, why can't you wake up the Traveler?" Roach asked.

The Ghost whirred—whether with panic or agitation, he wasn't sure, but the sound was a giveaway that it was either uncomfortable or mad.

"The Traveler is something I can't claim to know," the Ghost said. "But I know it made me to seek you out and help restore Light. Maybe if we work hard enough, the Traveler will wake to answer all of your questions."

Roach didn't like the evasion but let the subject drop as the ship approached the lunar surface. His jaw clenched as he braced himself for transmat. The feeling of traveling through space and time was disorienting, but his landings were getting better. As his feet touched the tough and beaten ground, he didn't stumble like he had the first or even the tenth time. There was never any warning; one minute he sat in the cockpit, and the next he was standing on the quiet surface.

His ship blazed overhead and he looked up at the vast sky. It was different compared to the Tower. Where they experienced day and night and the bustle of activity, it was as if time didn't exist on the moon. The sky was still dark. The quiet was deafening. Nothing had changed from his last visit.

With a sense of foreboding, Roach summoned his sparrow and got to work.

* * *

As the final Witch died, the whirling darkness on the platform shed into nothingness to reveal the shard of Light underneath. The Ghost appeared, its eye brighter than ever and spines spinning wildly.

"It's part of the Traveler," it said softly. If Roach didn't know better, he would say the Ghost was simply in awe. But though he was risen from the dead just a few days ago, he knew that tone in any machine or organic. Reverence. The Ghost was staring at a part of it's god. If it were made of organic material, Roach imagined it would cry.

"How did this get here?" The Ghost floated around the shard of light, eye wide and flickering, absorbing every inch to its memory.

"Can't we transport it out of here?" Roach asked.

The Ghost expanded, showing its own Light as it whirred. "No! If we remove it, our hard work would be undone." It snapped back together but the agitated whir continued. "This artifact can help push back the Darkness here. Without it, who knows what evil will spawn."

The Light hurt Roach's eyes. He looked away, choosing instead to focus on his gun. Did other Guardians struggle to look into Light?

"Alright, well, alert the Tower when we get out of here. Maybe they'll establish a team somewhere around here—the shard didn't seem to do so well on its own, you know?"

"Good idea, Guardian," the Ghost replied, it's eye still focused on the shard.

Roach didn't grasp the idea of the Traveler yet. He couldn't understand why a godly instrument would go silent and abandon its people. He didn't understand why it would choose a legion of dead warriors—warriors from a completely different time.

He watched the Ghost float closer to the shard and cleared his throat. It took two more tries until the little machine heard him. "Can you call the ship?"

"Oh, yes, of course." The Ghost took another look at the shard before reluctantly joining Roach's side.

In a dizzying flash, he was back in his ship. His helmet was quiet and he had the idea the Ghost was replying every image it stored. It had come face-to-face with a piece of its creator, maybe even a sign that the Traveler was still alive. Grateful for the silence, he set his next destination.


End file.
